We Do Not Go To

Do Not Fold, Spindle Or Mutilate.

Thus, When The Lamp That Lighted The Traveller At First Goes Out, He Feels Awhile Benighted, And Looks Around In Fear And Doubt. But Soon, The Prospect Clearing, By Cloudless Starlight On He Treads, And Thinks No Lamp So Cheering As That Light Which Heaven Sheds.

Friend Of My Bosom, Thou More Than A Brother, Why Wert Thou Not Born In My Father's Dwelling?

My Theory Is To Enjoy Life, But My Practice Is Against It.

Satire Does Not Look Pretty Upon A Tombstone.